


Codex Entry: The Inquisitor's Memories

by ashmeera101



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 00:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6064263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashmeera101/pseuds/ashmeera101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing much is known about Inquisitor Adaar, save what she and her mercenary company know and remember. But after years of leading the Inquisition, Lady Adaar has grown weary of her memories. This is a series of codex entries, written from conversations with the Inquisitor herself, of her past, and how she came to be the woman she is today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Codex Entry: The Inquisitor's Memories

The Inquisitor’s parents were born in Par Vollen during the Blessed Age. Raised under the same Tamassran, they met when they were but a handful of winters old. You see, Adaar – though back then she was not known by that name – was already marked to become a Tamassran herself, as were many of her female peers. She did not show sufficient interest in their religion to join the priesthood but had shown enough competence in the field to warrant her Tamassran’s interest. But young Adaar had her heart set on becoming a warrior, despite what her Tamassran told her.

At night, she would sneak out to the training yard and practice with swords taller than herself, swinging them repeatedly into the training dummies like they were the feared Tevinter mages her friends told her about. She was always alone during these nightly escapades, but eventually she was found out. But not by her Tamassran however, but by a young archer.The child, known as Anaan, meaning

The child, known as Anaan, meaning _victory_ , by his peers for his impressive skill with a bow, would occasionally sneak out at night to practice. Or so he would tell his friends and his Tamassran when he was caught. Though it would get him out of trouble at times, and make him look dedicated to his eventual career with the antaam, it was for a different reason entirely he cherished his time in the training grounds. Here in the quiet of the night and in the absence of the rowdy group of boys that was his entourage, he would sit by himself and enjoy the silence.

Except that one night, it was broken by the muffled thuds of sword on wood.

Anaan was shaken out of his silence and went to investigate. And this was where he found Adaar, swinging a wooden axe into a helpless burlap sack, painted to look like a Tevinter warrior. He watched her from the shadows for a long while, before curiosity overcame his common sense.

“You’re holding the axe wrong.”

She bristled and turned to him, pointing the tip of the axe to his chest. Though her stance was defensive, her eyes carried a fear deeper than she would care to admit, a fear of being caught outside her role. Anaan had no intention of reporting her however, for he saw something in this Qunari, something in her eyes that was different from any of his peers, any of his tutors. He would come to call her Adaar, _fire thrower_ , because of the passion that burned within, the flame that echoed in her every word and action.

They would meet often at the training grounds, even later when they had begun their official training, sometimes to spar, but mostly just sit and talk about everything and nothing at all. Anaan, though he was a master of the bow, was more interested in learning about life beyond the confines of their island city. He had met many traders from Antiva and Rivain when out running errands for his tutors. They fascinated him with their stories, though he never shared them with anybody else save Adaar. He loved their tales of pirates at sea, glittering nobles in marble palaces, drinking and dancing into the night, fierce duels over the hand of a fair maiden. Soon, he grew disillusioned with the Qun – why was it that his only reason for leaving the island was to tear these people from their lives, to forcibly convert them into a religion they wanted nothing to do with? Why did they live only to fight, why could they not sit and learn and live with others in peace? He could not express his frustrations to his brothers, for they did not know better. Their belief in the Qun was strong, stronger than his own faith ever was, and they openly disregarded the bas, seeing them as only Viddathari to be.

Adaar on the other hand was struggling with her own lot. Having been inducted into the Ariqun, her days were mostly spent studying the philosophies of the religion and helping to raise the younger children, as part of her role as a Tamassran-in-training. As the days went past however, she began to resent her role more and more. Her nightly training sessions had made her a competent warrior, with Anaan teaching her what he knew. The fire burned inside her, hot and bright. She wanted to fight, to prove herself in battle, and yet when she expressed this to her tutors in a reckless bout of frustration, they warned her with sharp eyes and voices. If she were to speak of things outside her role again, she would be sent to the Ben-Hassrath for re-education. The Qun stated that females could not be warriors, for they were better suited to other tasks.

And so, Adaar and Anaan would meet in the comfort of darkness, sharing their stories and frustrations. They would speak of the lands to the south, beyond the seas, and how they would visit them someday. Leaving Par Vollen, the Qun, was a dangerous thought, one that they did not entertain lightly. They had been raised on tales of Tal-Vashoth, how they were savage and mindless without the rein of the Qun to dictate their lives. How they were little more than feral dogs, attacking the weak and the innocent for food, building shelters out of the crudest materials. And Adaar and Anaan would look at each other and sigh, for what life lay outside the Qun beyond that?

As the years went by, their friendship blossomed into something more. Their first, tentative kiss was on a cold midwinter’s night, after Anaan had fumblingly spoke about how he felt. He had fallen in love with her burning fire, the loud and sure way she carried herself, and never wished to be apart from her. And Adaar too felt the same. She had fallen in love with his quiet ways, his soft, earnest voice. How, despite his calloused hands and the rough way he handled the swords and bows, he would always hold her with such tenderness.

The Qun forbade romantic attachments. They saw the union between man and woman as a purely physical act, only serving to produce more Qunari, more soldiers and farmers and priests dedicated to the religion. Any among them that wanted _more_  would again be subject to re-education. And so, Adaar and Anaan kept their relationship a secret, meeting only in the shadow of night, stealing moments away from the life they so hated.Eventually, they decided that they could no longer live like this. To live in constant fear of being discovered, of being punished just for caring for another, it was too much for them to bear. The tipping p

Eventually, they decided that they could no longer live like this. To live in constant fear of being discovered, of being punished just for caring for another, it was too much for them to bear. The tipping point however, was when Adaar found out she was with child. She had told Anaan this one night, fear creeping at the edges of her voice. But she took his hand, her eyes hard with finality, and told him that they would have to leave. She did not want the child, _their_ child, to live under the Qun, not after all they had been through.And so Anaan, cloaked and silent, met with a Rivaini captain he had known since he was a child. The Rivaini was sympathetic towards rogue Qunari, he knew and had transported a few safely south to the mainland. With the little coin he had, he bought passage for himself and Adaar on a ship headed to Antiva. Here, the captain told him, were many roads leading to the rest of Thedas. They could go wherever they wanted. A fresh start. Anaan could only nod and hope.

And so Anaan, cloaked and silent, met with a Rivaini captain he had known since he was a child. The Rivaini was sympathetic towards rogue Qunari and had transported a few safely south to the mainland. With the little coin he had, he bought passage for himself and Adaar on a ship headed to Antiva. Here, the captain told him, were many roads leading to the rest of Thedas. They could go wherever they wanted. A fresh start. Anaan could only nod and hope.

They stole away in the dead of night, with what little belongings they had. The captain showed them to a small corner of the ship, surrounded by barrels of fish and spices. This was to be their home for much of the voyage; they were not allowed to surface until the ship had cleared the waters of Par Vollen and entered Rivaini territory. Even then, they would come up deck rarely, content to stay in their corner and avoid the rest of the crew.

The ship docked in Seere a month later. Adaar and Anaan decided to continue their journey on foot from then on, instead of sailing on to Antiva. From there, they walked or hitched a ride on Vashoth caravans headed more and more south. This was Adaar and Anaan’s first encounter with the Vashoth, and they found that their company was actually warmer and more civil than they could have ever imagined. The mercenaries were sympathetic towards their plight, and one or two of them shared stories of how they too had escaped the Qun.

Talan, who was their only mage, bore the dotted scars across her lips that once held stitches sealing her mouth shut. She had escaped the cruel life of a Saarebas, and yet was bright and full of life, grinning and cackling as she rode alongside her brothers and sisters, healing the wounded and proving her own in battle. She was also a skilled herbalist and knew the uses of hundreds of plants across the whole of Thedas. Adaar and Anaan grew close to her as they travelled together.

The Vashoth continued on south, through Antiva and eventually reaching the Free Marches. By then, Adaar and Anaan had gotten used to freedom, helping the mercenaries set up and dismantle camp, and fought alongside them when they were attacked or ambushed. Adaar was given the chance to prove herself, finally, and her skill with the blade was commended by her companions. Anaan could only beam with pride.

However, they lived with a constant fear. Every time they passed through a village, they would cloak themselves and stay inside the caravan, not looking anybody in the eye. There weren’t many Qunari in Antiva, but the mercenaries did sometimes happen upon camps or villages with their banner. The mercenaries would protect them, Talan promised fiercely, would not let anything happen to either of them. The mage knew of the fear that kept your feet on the ground, always pushing farther and farther away from the north. It had taken her years to finally be at peace with herself.

After many months of travelling, the Vashoth arrived at their destination. It was a small village in the Vinmark Mountains, just north of the city of Kirkwall, though you would never find it marked on any map. For it was a village populated solely by Vashoth. Families of all shapes and sizes walked the streets freely. Children chased each other barefoot across the earthern streets, as their grandparents kept an eye on them. Dozens of Vashoth merchants and farmers plied their trade, selling vegetables and game to the visiting mercenaries and travelers. There were the occasional humans, elves and dwarves seen, but Adaar and Anaan learned they were once Viddathari, and that they too had escaped the Qun once they realized its true nature.

There was an aura of peace over the entire village, something that Adaar and Anaan had never truly felt before. The sight of the children playing, freely and without care, struck something inside of them, something deep and aching. Adaar looked at Anaan, and her hand would rise to her stomach, where their child rested.This was it. This was where they would make their home.

This was it. This was where they would make their home.

The mercenaries were sad to leave their new companions behind, Talan most of all. Though the mage would help her friends out one last time, for the night before they were supposed to leave, Adaar went into labour. The entire village scrambled to help – children were sent for cloth, the men for firewood and water, as Talan eased her friend’s head into her lap. Anaan’s face was pale as she held Adaar’s hand, squeezing tight.

And so the child came into this world, red-faced and screaming, surrounded by three dozen worried Vashoth. The crowd broke into cheers when Talan announced that it was a girl, and that at the rate she was wailing, she would summon the Kirkwall guard at any minute. _She is healthy_ , Talan added in a whisper as she handed the child to Adaar. _Healthy and strong. Congratulations, both of you._

And so Adaar and Anaan held their child in their shaking hands and wept. An entire year of running, of always looking back to the north, to the shadows of the Ben-Hassrath that haunted their nightmares. And now, their future surrounded them, greeting them with open arms. The warmth of their friends, the deep, burning love for each other, and now their daughter. Anaan pressed a kiss to Adaar’s forehead.  

It was worth the suffering.

 

_\- From conversations with Inquisitor Adaar, 9:42 Dragon_

 

Included with the parchment is a note, written in a careful hand:

 

_Josephine,_

_Thank you. There is nothing left of my parents, save my memories, and to have them written down the way this has been means the world to me._

_Tashak_

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so I am actually very disappointed in the lack of lore for Vashoth and other non-Qun qunari. So I made my own. This was originally supposed to be a one-shot but now, I have many branching ideas on how to continue this. Lets see how this goes.


End file.
